My vision fades into white.
It is the colour of his hair, or almost the colour of his skin under the pale morning sun. It is the way his eyes glimmer bright with inncocence and heart; yet, what is different about this white is that it is artificial.
Cold and unforgiving.
It's a harsh, unwelcoming colour, and surrounds me.
It's illogical to yearn for pain, or to repeat the cruel cycle of trauma and suffering.
But I would do anything just to see the colour of his hair again.
